第1章

I

AtSantaYsabeldelMartheseasonwasatoneofthosemomentswhentheairrestsquietoverlandandsea。Theoldbreezesweregone；thenewoneswerenotyetrisen。Theflowersinthemissiongardenopenedwide；

nowindcamebydayornighttoshaketheloosepetalsfromtheirstems。

Alongthebasking，silent，many—coloredshoregatheredandlingeredthecrispodorsofthemountains。Thedusthunggoldenandmotionlesslongaftertheriderwasbehindthehill，andthePacificlaylikeafloorofsapphire，whereontowalkbeyondthesettingsunintotheEast。Onewhitesailshonethere。Insteadofanhour，ithadbeenfromdawntillafternooninsightbetweentheshortheadlands；andthePadrehadhopedthatitmightbetheshiphishomesickheartawaited。Butithadslowlypassed。Fromanarchinhisgardencloistershewasnowwatchingthelastofit。Presentlyitwasgone，andthegreatoceanlayempty。ThePadreputhisglassesinhislap。Forashortwhilehereadinhisbreviary，butsoonforgotitagain。Helookedattheflowersandsunnyridges，thenatthehugebluetriangleofseawhichtheopeningofthehillsletintosight。"Paradise，"hemurmured，"neednotholdmorebeautyandpeace。ButIthinkIwouldexchangeallmyremainingyearsofthisforonesightagainofParisorSeville。MayGodforgivemesuchathought！"

Acrosstheunstirredfragranceofoleandersthebellforvespersbegantoring。ItstonespassedoverthePadreashewatchedtheseainhisgarden。Theyreachedhisparishionersintheiradobedwellingsnearby。

Thegentlecirclesofsoundfloatedoutwarduponthesmooth，immensesilence——overthevinesandpear—trees；downtheavenuesoftheolives；

intotheplantedfields，whencewomenandchildrenbegantoreturn；thenoutofthelapofthevalleyalongtheyellowuplands，wherethementhatrodeamongthecattlepaused，lookingdownlikebirdsatthemapoftheirhome。Thenthesoundwidened，faint，unbroken，untilitmetTemptationintheguiseofayouth，ridingtowardthePadrefromtheSouth，andcheeredthestepsofTemptation’sjadedhorse。

"Foraday，onesingledayofParis！"repeatedthePadre，gazingthroughhiscloistersattheemptysea。

Onceintheyearthemother—worldrememberedhim。Onceintheyear，fromSpain，tokensandhome—tidingscametohim，sentbycertainbelovedfriendsofhisyouth。Abarkentinebroughthimthesemessages。Wheneverthusthemother—worldrememberedhim，itwaslikethetouchofawarmhand，adearandtendercaress；adistantlife，byhimlongleftbehind，seemedtobedrawingtheexilehomewardfromthesealienshores。Asthetimeforhislettersandpacketsdrewnear，theeyesofPadreIgnaciowouldbeoftenfixedwistfullyupontheharbor，watchingforthebarkentine。Sometimes，asto—day，hemistookothersailsforhers，buthershemistooknever。ThatPacificOcean，which，forallitshuesandjeweledmists，hecouldnotlearntolove，had，sincelongbeforehisday，beenfurrowedbythekeelsofSpain。Traders，andadventurers，andmenofGodhadpassedalongthiscoast，plantingtheircoloniesandcloisters；butitwasnothisocean。Intheyearthatwe，athinstripofpatriotsawayoverontheAtlanticedgeofthecontinent，declaredourselvesanindependentnation，aSpanishship，inthenameofSaintFrancis，wasunloadingthecenturiesofherowncivilizationattheGoldenGate。SanDiegohadcomeearlier。Then，slowly，asmissionaftermissionwasbuiltalongthesoftcoastwilderness，newportswereestablished——atSantaBarbara，andbyPointSanLuisforSanLuisObispo，whichlayinlandalittlewayupthegorgewhereitopenedamongthehills。Thustheworldreachedthesemissionsbywater；whileonland，throughthemountains，aroadledtothem，andalsotomanymorethatweretoodistantbehindthehillsforshipstoserve——aroughroad，longandlonely，punctuatedwithchurchtowersandgardens。FortheFathersgraduallysostationedtheirsettlementsthatthetravelermighteachmorningrideoutfromonemissionandbyeveningofaday’sfairjourneyrideintothenext。Alonely，rough，dangerousroad，butlovely，too，withanamelikemusic——ElCaminoReal。Likemusicalsowerethenamesofthemissions——SanJuanCapistrano，SanLuisReydeFrancia，SanMiguel，SantaYnes——theirverylistisasong。

Sothere，by—and—by，wasourcontinent，withthelocomotivewhistlingfromSavannahtoBostonalongitseasternedge，andonthewesternthescatteredchimesofSpainringingamongtheunpeopIedmountains。Thusgrewthetwosortsofcivilization——notequally。Weknowwhathashappenedsince。To—daythelocomotiveiswhistlingalsofromTheGoldenGatetoSanDiego；butstilltheoldmission—roadgoesthroughthemountains，andalongitthefootstepsofvanishedSpainaremarkedwithroses，andbrokencloisters，andthecrucifix。

Butthiswas1855。OnlythebarkentinebroughttoPadreIgnaciothesignsfromtheworldthatheoncehadknownandlovedsodearly。Asforthenewworldmakingarudenoisetothenorthward，hetrustedthatitmightkeepawayfromSantaYsabel，andhewaitedforthevesselthatwasoverduewithitspackagecontaininghissingleworldlyluxury。

Asthelittle，ancientbronzebellcontinuedswinginginthetower，itsplaintivecallreachedsomethinginthePadre’smemory。Softly，absently，hebegantosing。Hetookuptheslowstrainnotquitecorrectly，anddroppedit，andtookitupagain，alwaysincadencewiththebell。

[musicalscoreappearshere]

Atlengthheheardhimself，and，glancingatthebelfry，smiledalittle。

"Itisaprettytune，"hesaid，"anditalwaysmademesorryforpoorFraDiavolo。Auberhimselfconfessedtomethathehadmadeitsadandputthehermitagebelltogowithit，becausehetoowasgrievedathavingtokillhisvillain，andwantedhim，ifpossible，todieinareligiousframeofmind。AndAubertouchedglasseswithmeandsaid——howwellI

rememberit！——’IsitthegoodLord，orisitmerelythedevil，thatmakesmealwayshaveaweaknessforrascals？’Itoldhimitwasthedevil。I

wasnotapriestthen。Icouldnotbesosurewithmyanswernow。"AndthenPadreIgnaciorepeatedAuber’sremarkinFrench:"’Est—celebonDieu，ouiest—cebienlediable，quiveuttonjoursquej’aimelescoquins？"Idon’tknow！Idon’tknow！IwonderifAuberhascomposedanythinglately？Iwonderwhoissinging’Zerlina’now？"

Hecastafarewelllookattheocean，andtookhisstepsbetweenthemonasticherbs，thejasminesandtheoleanderstothesacristy。"Atleast，"hesaid，"ifwecannotcarrywithusintoexilethefriendsandtheplaceswehaveloved，musicwillgowhitherwego，eventoanendoftheworldsuchasthis。——Felipe！"hecalledtohisorganist。"CantheysingthemusicItaughtthemfortheDixitDominusto—night？"

"Yes，father，surely。"

"Thenwewillhavethat。And，Felipe——"ThePadrecrossedthechanceltothesmall，shabbyorgan。"Rise，mychild，andlisten。Hereissomethingyoucanlearn。Why，seenowifyoucannotlearnitfromasinglehearing。"

Theswarthyboyofsixteenstoodwatchinghismaster’sfingers，delicateandwhite，astheyplayed。Thus，ofhisownaccord，hehadbeguntowatchthemwhenachildofsix；andthePadrehadtakenthewild，half—scared，spellboundcreatureandmadeamusicianofhim。

"There，Felipe！"hesaidnow。"Canyoudoit？Slower，andmoresoftly，muchachomio。Itisaboutthedeathofaman，anditshouldgowithourbell。"

Theboylistened。"Thenthefatherhasplayeditatonetoolow，"saidhe，"forourbellringsthenoteofsol，orsomethingverynearit，asthefathermustsurelyknow。"Heplacedthemelodyintherightkey——aneasythingforhim；andthePadrewasdelighted。

"Ah，myFelipe，"heexclaimed，"whatcouldyouandInotdoifwehadabetterorgan！Onlyalittlebetter！See！abovethisrowofkeyswouldbeasecondrow，andmanymorestops。ThenwewouldmakesuchmusicashasneveryetbeenheardinCalifornia。Butmypeoplearesopoorandsofew！

AndsomedayIshallhavepassedfromthem，anditwillbetoolate。"

"Perhaps，"venturedFelipe，"theAmericanos——"

"Theycarenothingforus，Felipe。Theyarenotofourreligion——orofanyreligion，fromwhatIcanhear。Don’tforgetmyDixitDominus。"

ThePadreretiredoncemoretothesacristy，whilethehorsethatbroughtTemptationcameoverthehill。

Thehourofservicedrewnear；andasthePadrewaitedheonceagainsteppedoutforalookattheocean；butthebluetriangleofwaterlaylikeapictureinitsframeofland，bareasthesky。"Ithink，fromthecolor，though，"saidhe，"thatalittlemorewindmusthavebegunoutthere。"

Thebellrangalastshortsummonstoprayer。Alongtheroadfromthesouthayoungrider，leadingapack—animal，ambledintothemissionanddismounted。Churchwasnotsomuchinhisthoughtsasfoodand，afterduedigestion，abed；butthedoorsstoodopen，and，aseverybodywaspassingwithinthem，morevarietywastobegainedbyjoiningthiscompanythanbywaitingoutsidealoneuntiltheyshouldreturnfromtheirdevotions。

Soheseatedhimselfinacornerneartheentrance，andafterabrief，jauntyglanceatthesunburned，shaggycongregation，madehimselfascomfortableasmightbe。Hehadnotseenafaceworthkeepinghiseyesopenfor。Thesimplechoirandsimplefold，gatheredforeven—song，paidhimnoattention——aroughAmericanboundforthemineswasbutanobjectofaversiontothem。

ThePadre，ofcourse，hadbeeninstantlyawareofthestranger’spresence。Tobeawareofunaccustomedpresencesisthesixthsensewithvicarsofeverycreedandheresy；andiftheparishislonelyandtheworshipersfewandseldomvarying，anewcomerwillgleamoutlikeanewbooktoberead。Andatrainedpriestlearnstoreadkeenlythefacesofthosewhoassembletoworshipunderhisguidance。ButAmericanvagrants，withnothoughtssaveofgold—digging，andanoverweeningilliteratejargonforspeech，hadlongceasedtointerestthispriest，eveninhisstarvationforcompanyandtalkfromtheoutsideworld；andthereforeaftertheintoninghesatwithhishomesickthoughtsunchanged，todrawbothpainandenjoymentfromthemusicthathehadsettotheDixitDominus。HelistenedtothetenderchorusthatopensWilliamTell；and，astheLatinpsalmproceeded，picturesofthepastrosebetweenhimandthealtar。Oneafteranothercamethesestrainshehadtakenfromoperasfamousintheirday，untilatlengththePadrewasmurmuringtosomemusicseldomlongoutofhisheart——nottheLatinversewhichthechoirsang，buttheoriginalFrenchwords:

"Ah，voilemanenvie，Voilamonseuldesir:

Rendezmoimapatrie，Oulaissezmoimourir。"

Whichmayberendered:

ButonewishIimplore，Onewishisallmycry:

Givebackmynativelandoncemore，Giveback，orletmedie。

Thenithappenedthathiseyefellagainuponthestrangernearthedoor，andheskaightwayforgothisDixitDominus。Thefaceoftheyoungmanwasnolongerhiddenbytheslouchingpositionhehadatfirsttaken。"I

onlynoticedhisclothesatfirst，"thoughtthePadre。Restlessnesswasplainuponthehandsomebrow，andviolencewasinthemouth；butPadreIgnaciolikedtheeyes。"Heisnotsayinganyprayers，"hesurmised，presently。"Idoubtifhehassaidanyforalongwhile。Andheknowsmymusic。Heisofeducatedpeople。HecannotbeAmerican。Andnow——yes，hehastaken——Ithinkitmustbeaflower，fromhispocket。Ishallhavehimtodinewithme。"AndvespersendedwithrosycloudsofeagernessdriftingacrossthePadre’sbrain。

II

Butthestrangermadehisownbeginning。Asthepriestcamefromthechurch，therebelliousyoungfigurewaswaiting。"Yourorganisttellsme，"hesaid，impetuously，"thatitisyouwho——"

"MayIaskwithwhomIhavethegreatpleasureofspeaking？"saidthePadre，puttingformalitytothefrontandhispleasureoutofsight。

Thestranger’sfacereddenedbeneathitssun—beatenbronze，andhebecameawareofthePadre’spalefeatures，moldedbyrefinementandtheworld。

"Ibegyourlenience，"saidhe，withagracefulandconfidentutterance，asofequaltoequal。"MynameisGastonVillere，anditwastimeI

shouldberemindedofmymanners。"

ThePadre’shandwavedapolitenegative。

"Indeed，yes，Padre。Butyourmusichasamazedme。Ifyoucarriedsuchassociationsas——Ah！thedaysandthenights！"——hebrokeoff。"TocomedownaCaliforniamountainandfindParisatthebottom！TheHuguenots，Rossini，Herold——IwaswaitingforIlTrovatore。"

"Isthatsomethingnew？"inquiredthePadre，eagerly。

Theyoungmangaveanexclamation。"Thewholeworldisringingwithit！"

hecried。

"ButSantaYsabeIdelMarisalongwayfromthewholeworld，"murmuredPadreIgnacio。

"Indeed，itwouldnotappeartobeso，"returnedyoungGaston。"IthinktheComedieFrancaisemustberoundthecorner。"

Athrillwentthroughthepriestatthetheater’sname。"AndhaveyoubeenlonginAmerica？"heasked。

"Why，always——excepttwoyearsofforeigntravelaftercollege。"

"AnAmerican！"exclaimedthesurprisedPadre，withperhapsatoneofdisappointmentinhisvoice。"ButnoAmericanswhoareyetcomethiswayhavebeen——havebeen"——heveiledthetoo—bluntexpressionofhisthought——"havebeenfamiliarwithTheHuguenots，"hefinished，makingaslightbow。

Villeretookhisunder—meaning。"IcomefromNewOrleans，"hereturned，"andinNewOrleanstherelivemanyofuswhocanrecognizea——whocanrecognizegoodmusicwhereverwehearit。"Andhemadeaslightbowinhisturn。

ThePadrelaughedoutrightwithpleasureandlaidhishandupontheyoungman’sarm。"Youhavenointentionofgoingawayto—morrow，Itrust？"

"Withyourleave，"answeredGaston，"Iwillhavesuchanintentionnolonger。"

ItwaswiththeairandgaitofmutualunderstandingthatthetwonowwalkedontogethertowardthePadre’sdoor。Theguestwastwenty—five，thehostsixty。

"AndhaveyoubeeninAmericalong？"inquiredGaston。

"Twentyyears。"

"AndatSantaYsabelhowlong？"

"Twentyyears。"

"Ishouldhavethought，"saidGaston，lookinglightlyatthedesertandunpeopIedmountains，"thatnowandagainyoumighthavewishedtotravel。"

"WereIyourage，"murmuredPadreIgnacio，"itmightbeso。"

Theeveninghadnowripenedtothelongafter—glowofsunset。Theseawasthepurpleofgrapes，andwine—coloredhuesflowedamongthehighshouldersofthemountains。

"Ihaveseenasightlikethis，"saidGaston，"betweenGranadaandMalaga。"

"SoyouknowSpain！"saidthePadre。

Oftenhehadthoughtofthisresemblance，butnevertillnowmetanyonetosharehisthought。ThecourtlyproprietorofSanFernandoandtheotherpatriarchalrancheroswithwhomheoccasionallyexchangedvisitsacrossthewildernessknewhospitalityandinheritedgentlemanners，sendingtoEuropeforsilksandlacestogivetheirdaughters；buttheireyeshadnotlookeduponGranada，andtheirearshadneverlistenedtoWilliamTell。

"Itisquitesingular，"pursuedGaston，"howonenookintheworldwillsuddenlyremindyouofanothernookthatmaybethousandsofmilesaway。

Onemorning，behindtheQuaiVoltaire，anold，yellowhousewithrustybalconiesmademealmosthomesickforNewOrleans。"

"TheQuaiVoltaire！"saidthePadre。

"IheardRachelinValeriethatnight，"theyoungmanwenton。"Didyouknowthatshecouldsing，too。ShesangseveralversesbyanastonishinglittleJewviolon—cellistthatiscomeupoverthere。"

ThePadregazeddownathisblitheguest。"Toseesomebody，somebody，onceagain，isverypleasanttoahermit！"

"Itcannotbemorepleasantthanarrivingatanoasis，"returnedGaston。

Theyhaddelayedonthethresholdtolookatthebeautyoftheevening，andnowthepriestwatchedhisparishionerscomeandgo。"Howcanonemakecompanions——"hebegan；then，checkinghimself，hesaid:"Theirsoulsareassacredandimmortalasmine，andGodhelpsmetohelpthem。

Butinthisworlditisnotimmortalsoulsthatwechooseforcompanions；

itiskindredtastes，intelligences，and——andsoIandmybooksaregrowingoldtogether，yousee，"headded，morelightly。"Youwillfindmyvolumesasbehindthetimesasmyself。"

Hehadfallenintotalkmoreintimatethanhewished；andwhiletheguestwasutteringsomethingpoliteaboutthenobilityofmissionarywork，heplacedhiminaneasy—chairandsoughtaguardienteforhisimmediaterefreshment。Sincetheyear’sbeginningtherehadbeennoguestforhimtobringintohisrooms，ortositbesidehiminthehighseatsattable，setapartforthegentefina。

SuchanotherlibrarywasnottheninCalifornia；andthoughGastonVillere，inleavingHarvardCollege，hadshutHoraceandSophoclesforeverattheearliestinstantpossibleunderacademicrequirements，heknewtheGreekandLatinnamesthathenowsawaswellasheknewthoseofShakspere，Dante，Moliere，andCervantes。Thesewereherealso；butitcouldnotbepreciselysaidofthem，either，thattheymadeapartoftheyoungman’sdailyreading。AshesurveyedthePadre’saugustshelves，itwaswithatouchofthehistrionicSoutherngravitywhichhisNortherneducationhadnotwhollyschooledoutofhimthathesaid:

"IfearIamnoscholar，sir。ButIknowwhatwriterseverygentlemanoughttorespect。"

ThepolishedPadrebowedgravelytothiscompliment。

Itwaswhenhiseyescaughtsightofthemusicthattheyoungmanfeltagainatease，andhisvivacityreturnedtohim。Leavinghischair，hebeganenthusiasticallytoexaminethetallpilesthatfilledonesideoftheroom。Thevolumeslaypiledandscatteredeverywhere，makingapleasantdisorder；and，asperfumecomesfromaflower，memoriesofsingersandchandeliersrosebrightfromtheprintednames。Norma，Tancredi，DonPasquale，LaVestale，dimlightsinthefashionsofto—day，sparkledupontheexploringGaston，conjuringtheradianthallsofEuropebeforehim。"TheBarberofSeville！"hepresentlyexclaimed。"AndI

happenedtohearitinSeville。"

ButSeville’snamebroughtoverthePadreanewrushofhomethoughts。

"IsnotAndalusiabeautiful？"hesaid。"DidyouseeitinApril，whentheflowerscome？"

"Yes，"saidGaston，amongthemusic。"IwasatCordovathen。"

"Ah，Cordova！"murmuredthePadre。

"Semiramide！"criedGaston，lightinguponthatopera。"Thatwasaweek！"

Ishouldliketoliveitover，everydayandnightofit！"

"DidyoureachMalagafromMarseillesorGibraltar？"askedthePadre，wistfully。

"FromMarseilles。DownfromParisthroughtheRhoneValley，youknow。"

"ThenyousawProvence！Anddidyougo，perhaps，fromAvignontoNismesbythePontduGard？ThereisaplaceIhavemadehere——alittle，littleplace——witholive—trees。Andnowtheyhavegrown，anditlookssomethinglikethatcountry，ifyoustandinaparticularposition。Iwilltakeyouthereto—morrow。IthinkyouwillunderstandwhatImean。"

"Anotherresemblance！"saidthevolatileandhappyGaston。"Webothseemtohaveaneyeforthem。But，believeme，Padre，Icouldneverstayhereplantingolives。Ishouldgobackandseetheoriginalones——andthenI’dhastenontoParis。"

And，withavolumeofMeyerbeeropeninhishand，Gastonhummed:

"’Robert，Robert，toiquej’aime。’Why，Padre，Ithinkthatyourlibrarycontainsnoneofthemassesandalloftheoperasintheworld！"

"Iwillmakeyoualittleconfession，"saidPadreIgnacio，"andthenyoushallgivemealittleabsolution。"

"Forapenance，"saidGaston，"youmustplayoversomeofthesethingstome。"

"IsupposeIcouldnotpermitmyselfthisluxury，"beganthePadre，pointingtohisoperas，"andteachthesetomychoir，ifthepeoplehadanyworldlyassociationswiththemusic。ButIhavereasonedthatthemusiccannotdothemharm——"

Theringingofabellhereinterruptedhim。"Infifteenminutes，"hesaid，"ourpoormealwillbereadyforyou。"ThegoodPadrewasnotquitesincerewhenhespokeofa"poormeal。"Whilegettingtheaguardienteforhisguesthehadgivenorders，andheknewhowwellsuchorderswouldbecarriedout。Helivedalone，andgenerallysuppedsimplyenough，butnoteventheampletableatSanFernandocouldsurpasshisownonoccasions。

Andthiswasforhimindeedanoccasion！

"Yourhalf—breedswillthinkIamoneofthemselves，"saidGaston，showinghisdustyclothes。"Iamnotfittobeseatedwithyou。"Buthedidnotmeanthisanymorethanhishosthadmeanthisremarkaboutthefood。Inhispack，whichanIndianhadbroughtfromhishorse，hecarriedsomegarmentsofcivilization。Andpresently，afterfreshwaterandnotalittlepainstakingwithbrushandscarf，therecamebacktothePadreayoungguestwhoseeleganceandbearingandeaseofthegreatworldweretotheexiledpriestassweetaswashistraveledconversation。

Theyrepairedtothehallandtooktheirseatsattheheadofthelongtable。FortheSpanishcenturiesofstatelycustomlivedatSantaYsabeI

delMar，inviolate，feudal，remote。

Theyweretheonlypersonsofqualitypresent；andbetweenthemselvesandthegentederazonaspaceintervened。BehindthePadre’schairstoodanIndiantowaftuponhim，andanotherstoodbehindthechairofGastonVillere。Eachoftheseservantsworeonesinglewhitegarment，andofferedthemanydishestothegentefinaandrefilledtheirglasses。Atthelowerendofthetableageneralattendantwafteduponmesclados——thehalf—breeds。Therewasmeatwithspices，androastedquail，withvariouscakesandotherpreparationsofgrain；alsothebrownfresholivesandgrapes，withseveralsortsoffigsandplums，andpreservedfruits，andwhiteandredwine——thewhitefiftyyearsold。Beneaththequietshiningofcandles，fresh—cutflowersleanedfromvesselsofoldMexicanandSpanishmake。

Thereatoneendofthisfeastsatthewild，pastoral，gaudycompany，speakinglittleovertheirfood；andthereattheotherthepalePadre，questioninghisvisitoraboutRachel。Themerenameofastreetwouldbringmemoriescrowdingtohislips；andwhenhisguesttoldhimofanewplayhewasreadywitholdquotationsfromthesameauthor。AlfreddeVignytheyspokeof，andVictorHugo，whomthePadredisliked。Longafterthedulce，orsweetdish，whenitwasthecustomforthevaquerosandtherestoftheretainerstoriseandleavethegentefinatothemselves，thehostsatonintheemptyhail，fondlytalkingtohisguestofhisbygoneParisandfondlylearningofthelaterParisthattheguesthadseen。Andthusthetwolingered，exchangingtheirenthusiasms，whilethecandleswaned，andthelong—hairedIndiansstoodsilentbehindthechairs。

"Butwemustgotomypiano，"thehostexclaimed。Foratlengththeyhadcometoalustydifferenceofopinion。ThePadre，withearscriticallydeaf，andwithsmiling，unconvincedeyes，wasshakinghishead，whileyoungGastonsangTrovatoreathim，andbeatuponthetablewithafork。

"Comeandconvertme，then，"saidPadreIgnacio，andheledtheway。

"DonizettiIhavealwaysadmitted。There，atleast，isrefinement。IftheworldhastakentothisVerdi，withhisstreet—bandmusic——Butthere，now！Sitdownandconvertme。Onlydon’tcrushmypoorlittleErardwithVerdi’shoofs。IbroughtitwhenIcame。Itisbehindthetimes，too。

And，oh，mydearboy，ourorganisstillworse。Soold，soold！TogetaproperoneIwouldsacrificeeventhispianoofmineinamoment——onlythetinklingthingisnotworthasoutoanybodyexceptitsmaster。Butthere！Areyouquitecomfortable？"Andhavingseentohisguest’sneeds，andplacedspiritsandcigarsandanash—traywithinhisreach，thePadresathimselfcomfortablyinhischairtohearandexposethefalsedoctrineofIlTrovatore。

BymidnightalloftheoperathatGastoncouldrecallhadbeenplayedandsungtwice。Theconvertsatinhischairnolonger，butstoodsingingbythepiano。Thepotentswingandflowofrhythms，thetorrid，copiousinspirationoftheSouth，masteredhim。"Verdihasgrown，"hecried。

"Verdiisbecomeagiant。"Andheswayedtothebeatofthemelodies，andwavedanenthusiasticarm。Hedemandedeverynote。WhydidnotGastonrememberitall？Butifthebarkentinewouldarriveandbringthewholemusic，thentheywouldhaveitright！AndhemadeGastonteachhimwhatwordsheknew。"’Nontiscorder，’"hesang——"’nontiscordardime。’Thatisgenius。Butoneseeshowtheworldmoveswhenoneisoutofit。’A

nostrimontiritorneremo’；hometoourmountains。Ah，yes，thereisgeniusagain。"Andtheexilesighedandhisspiritvoyagedtodistantplaces，whileGastoncontinuedbrilliantlywiththemusicofthefinalscene。

Thenthehostrememberedhisguest。"Iamashamedofmyselfishness，"hesaid。"Itisalreadyto—morrow。"

"Ihavesatlaterinlessgoodcompany，"answeredthepleasantGaston。

"AndIshallsleepallthesounderformakingaconvert。"

"Youhavedispensedroadsidealms，"saidthePadre，smiling，"andthatshouldwinexcellentdreams。"

Thus，withcourtesiesmoreelaboratethantheworldhastimeforatthepresentday，theybadeeachothergood—nightandparted，bearingtheirlatecandlesalongthequiethallsofthemission。ToyoungGastoninhisbedeasysleepcamewithoutwaiting，andnodreamsatail。Outsidehisopenwindowwasthequiet，serenedarkness，wherethestarsshoneclear，andtranquilperfumeshunginthecloisters。Butwhiletheguestlaysleepingallnightinunchangedpositionlikeachild，upanddownbetweentheoleanderswentPadreIgnacio，walkinguntildawn。Temptationindeedhadcomeoverthehillandenteredthecloisters。